


I Wanna Love Somebody But I Don't Know How

by wanderingaesthetic



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Prayer, faith - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29853246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingaesthetic/pseuds/wanderingaesthetic
Summary: He once again contemplated the eternal question of what the hell she could want from him.
Relationships: Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	I Wanna Love Somebody But I Don't Know How

Trevor woke needing to piss and when he climbed back into the wagon to lay back down beside Sypha. He leaned on his elbow and looked at her face, just visible in a bar of blue moonlight shining through the canvas flap. He idly traced a lock of her hair where it curled against her cheek. He’d called the Speakers’ haircuts boyish, but she was all woman, lips soft and plush, nose slightly upturned, cute, features soft and trusting in sleep.

_How did I get here?_

He thought back to the morning after they had first had sex, of the absence of her warmth waking him where he lay now, with memories of a fire and a jug of beer and Sypha pulling that blue robe over her head and climbing into his lap. It would have taken someone with far more willpower than a tipsy Trevor Belmont to turn down that invitation.

He had been drinking but he had not been drunk. He remembered everything. He remembered Sypha with his fur-lined cloak draped over her shoulders as she—

_How did I get here?_

He had been reluctant to face her, after. He had given what he deemed to be not the best or worst sexual performance of his life, but it wasn’t that sort of shame that made him hesitate. Drawing on his past experience…

He didn’t want to draw on his past experience.

Outside the wagon, she had brought the fire back to life and was perched on a little camp stool, roasting sausages on sticks. She had merrily wished him good morning and offered him one. Trevor had stood there, staring, at a loss of what to say to her.

“Trevor…. You don’t regret what happened, do you?” she’d said.

Trevor took too long to answer.

“You do remember, right? You weren’t _that_ drunk. ”

“No, I… remember.”

“I didn’t…” She looked momentarily frightened. “Did I take advantage of you?”

“No! No, that’s not…!” he shook his head. “If that’s taking advantage of me, do it again.”

She’d stuck her sticks with their sausages in the ground by the fire and opened her arms to him in invitation. He hesitated, but his misgivings were weaker than the magnetic force that drew him to her.

They kissed, weakly and awkwardly.

Sypha pulled back and looked at him, trying to put the pieces of him together.

“Trevor Belmont, how old are you?”

“What?” the question had nothing to do with the thoughts and emotions that were clogging up his brain. “I’m…” he had to think about it. He was twelve when his family died, but as big and as strong as some grown men. On his own those first years, he’d said he was sixteen, and had generally been believed. He’d lied about his age so much in the intervening years it was difficult to remember the truth. “I’m twenty-eight.”

“And in those years, have you never kissed a girl?”

“What? _Yes,_ of course I’ve—“

“Do you not _want_ to kiss me?” she asked, sounding pained.

“I do, it’s just. I don’t…. What do you _want_ from me, Sypha?”

She squinted at him. It was like she didn’t understand the question.

“Look, every girl I’ve ever done that with I’ve either paid or she pretended she didn’t recognize me the next day. I’m not… I’m not…” _I’m not marriage material._ “I’m not someone you take home. And you’re still talking to me, I don’t know—“

She silenced him with another kiss. It was again awkward at first, but she pressed on, sliding her mouth over his, looping her hands around the back of his neck, and he felt—pleasure, yes—but moreover a souls-deep _relief._ He softened against the kiss, pulled her into his arms. He couldn’t _help_ doing it.

“Shhh, shh,” she had said between kisses. “All I want right now is to be with you.”

She’d taken him back to bed, or back to the pile of blankets in the back of the wagon that might as well have been down filled pillows in comparison to some of the places he’d slept. She’d slept in his arms that night, and every night since.

And here she was. Still with him as he stared at her pale eyelashes in the moonlight.

She was physically lovely, but moreover she was strong. Someone he need not worry about bringing near danger by having her in his life. He was excommunicate and unable to take a wife, not unless he lied about his identity, the one thing he was unwilling to do. He felt guilty, often, over not continuing the family line, but he had never personally desired a family. A wife, a household, had always looked like a burden to him. He barely had the means to take care of himself most of the time, much less a woman, even less children. He had never dreamed—

He snatched his hand back to himself. He was dreaming now. What the hell was he thinking? That she would take care of him?

He once again contemplated the eternal question of _what the hell she could want from him._ She wasn’t acting like a woman who wanted only a roll in the hay with him and she wasn’t acting like a woman who might like a chance to be his wife—not that he had any such woman to compare her to, personally. In the world he came from, such exchanges were made in careful, lengthy discussions between families. What did Speakers even do? It wasn’t like he could ask her, not without obviously feeling out whether or not she and he were a long-term possibility.

_All I want right now is to be with you._

He wanted that also. He wanted it so much it terrified him to think about it. Thinking about the future beyond his next drink terrified him. He had been so unsure for so long that there was anything beyond that.

He curled in on himself and squeezed his eyes closed. Any other subject he would have spoken about with her. He could hardly ask her about this.

Who could he ask?

He thought, for the very first time in a long time indeed, about asking _God_ about it.

He laughed out loud and tried to smother it so as not to wake Sypha. He bit his own finger to stifle it and let his back shake with it.

_Our father who art in heaven, please please please let me continue this adulterous relationship with a heathen._

One of the cruelest things about being Trevor Belmont was that he still believed. He had no choice. He had spoken to demons and seen them burned by blessed weapons and holy water. God was very, very real, and had forsaken him.

And yet…

The cathedral in Gresit had been deconsecrated. Demons walked right in and slaughtered the bishop. God removed his hand of protection from them. He was not in that church, perhaps hadn’t been for some time, perhaps…

He stared up at the shadowed canvas and thought about what Sypha had said, about a lot of the things Sypha had said, but particularly about Jesus being a perfect example of love, about children exceeding their parents. That was heresy, the idea of God the Father and God the Son being separate entities, and Trevor was turning another potential heresy over in his brain. He thought about the Speakers of Gresit, only wanting to help the people and under threat of murder by the church for it. He thought of his own dead family, as faithful as any, trying to protect the common folk from the night. He thought of Lisa Tepes, wanting to give healing and being burned at the stake for it. He thought of himself, unwanted and unloved and one of the only people who could—and did—stand against Dracula and his legions.

If there was anyone who was on the side of those who were shunned and kicked and killed for trying to make the world a better place, it would be the one who had nails put through his hands and feet, and crown of thorns and a spear through his side all for the trouble of telling people to love one another.

He curled his hand in the shape to make the sign of the cross, thumb pointer and middle finger squeezed together for the trinity, the last two fingers pressed into the palm, for the nails.

“Jesus,” he whispered to the night, crossing himself. It felt strange to say as a name and not as a swear. “Lord Jesus,” that didn’t feel right either, but he continued on, thinking of how he’d been taught to pray as a child. _Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name._ He squeezed his eyes shut.

“I know I haven’t prayed in a long time and in that time I’ve racked up a lot of sins. Treated my body as far less than a temple, blasphemed… pretty much constantly, done some wrath, some pride, a little lust, probably a ton of stuff I’m forgetting.” He puffed out a breath. “I want to be a better man. Because. I want to live now. Because someone wants me around,” his voice was small and childish and he found there were tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. “Thank you for keeping me alive long enough for someone to want me around.”

“Just, please….” He swallowed. “Let me be with her. Let her decide to stay with me. Make me into someone worth staying with. We’re both already damned, right? So you don’t care what we do. Just let me have this one thing. Just let us have this one thing.”

_Thy kingdom come, thy will be done._

“You tried and they killed you for it, I’m just trying to do the same even though it will probably happen to me, too. I’ll keep in practice and I’ll stop drinking so much and I’ll keep fighting off demons, just please. Let us be together.”

_Forgive us of our trespasses while we forgive those who trespass against us._

He thought about the people who torched his family home and burned his sisters and his brother and his parents alive. He thought about the bishops and the townspeople of Gresit who burned Alucard’s mother and tried to burn Sypha and her people when that didn’t work out so well for them. He thought about Dracula slamming Alucard’s head into the fireplace.

“I don’t think I can do this part. You’re going to have to do the forgiving for me, for now. Sorry. For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen.”

He opened his eyes. Sypha was still sleeping peacefully beside him. The night was still. He felt a little foolish, but also as if some tension that had been building within him had been released. He put his arm around Sypha, rested his hand on her back and felt it rise and fall with her slow, sleeping breath. He slept.


End file.
